


There Was No Lab Accident

by AJ_illustrated



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure, Tangled: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: Alchemy, Bullying, Gen, Minor Violence, Science, description of injury, old corona village, pre-QfaD, sort of a bitter ending, the angst is strong with this one, the villagers really don't like varian btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 11:44:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17580182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJ_illustrated/pseuds/AJ_illustrated
Summary: Old Corona Village has never been very accepting of those who rock the boat- which leaves Varian in a tight spot. And after the disaster with his underground boilers, the townsfolk are even less friendly than usual.





	There Was No Lab Accident

Eggs, milk, bread, bimberry extract, sodium bicarbonate- oh, and apples.  


Going shopping was by far Varian’s least favorite chore. Partially due to the fact that there was no gadget or formula he had yet come up with that could get the job done for him, but mainly because of the unavoidable reality that, in order to buy things from the market, he was going to have to interact with the townsfolk.

It wasn’t that he  _ hated _ them or anything- quite the contrary, honestly. But Varian was moderately sure that the constant routine of cold looks, harsh whispers, and mothers instinctively shielding their children from him would grate on the nerves of just about anybody. Besides, he only had to go once a week, so it wasn’t like he had much to complain about.

The line for the baker’s was shorter than usual today, thank goodness. As the woman in front of him collected her bag of purchases, Varian stepped forward and dug into his apron pocket, pulling out a few bronze coins. 

“Three loaves, please.”

The baker was a large, round man, easily two heads taller than Varian and three times as wide. He had a thick, bushy brown mustache that covered his upper lip and reminded Varian of a walrus. His eyes twinkled cheerfully in the morning sunshine until they dropped down to meet those belonging to the young alchemist’s. His expression darkened and his moustache began to twitch irritably, giving Varian the urge to back away. But nevertheless, he stood his ground; this wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with unpleasant neighbors.

The baker scowled down at Varian’s grimy handful of coins for a moment, not saying a word. With an indiscernible grunt, he turned away, seizing three very small barley loaves and throwing them unceremoniously into a brown paper sack, shoving it into Varian’s arms with enough force to push him back several steps. 

_ Jerk, _ Varian thought to himself as he set down his payment of three coins. He turned to walk to the next booth, only for a hand the size of his head to clap down on his shoulder before he had even gotten two steps away. Varian whipped around in surprise, straining to meet the gaze of the baker.

“S’not enough,” the man said gruffly, crossing his arms. 

Varian frowned. “Whaddaya mean, ‘it’s not enough’? The price is one coin a loaf--”

“Price changed,” he barked. “Two coins a loaf now.”

“What?? That-that’s ridiculous!” Varian stuttered. “That’s the  _ twice  _ the amount it was before--”

“Take it or leave it, kid. ‘Les you want me to bring you in fer’  _ thieving.” _

Varian blanched; the man couldn’t possibly be serious. He opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by a nudge from the elderly woman behind him. 

“You’re holding up the line,” she said curtly, the wrinkles around her eyes becoming more pronounced with her sour expression. 

More people were beginning to look over now, a wave of murmurings rising from the crowd. Beads of nervous sweat were forming at Varian’s hairline;  _ okay, Varian, keep it together, don’t panic, just think. _ If he paid the extra amount, there wouldn’t be enough money to buy everything on his list. Of course, there was always the option of giving back the bread and telling the baker to take a hike, but he and his dad couldn’t just go without bread for a whole week!

Fine. He’d give in  _ this _ time. With a huff, Varian slapped down the three extra coins on the counter and hurried away before the baker raised his price again. There went his bimberry extract. 

Varian sighed; he supposed he couldn’t blame everyone for still being upset. The incident with the underground boilers had happened only a few days before, and cleanup was still in full swing. Thankfully, no one had been hurt this time, but a lot of people’s houses had gotten damaged from the tremors and debris. He’d managed to lay low for the last couple of days, only going out to help collect the remains of his machines and to neutralize the sprays of Flynnolium that had somehow leaked aboveground. Needless to say, Varian wasn’t exactly Mister Popularity. 

He was only trying to help. If things had gone as planned, with everyone gaining the luxury of hot running water like the Royals, the townsfolk might have actually been civil to him for a change. 

Maybe next time. 

He collected the rest of the items on his list without much incident, only once having to cross the street to avoid someone (an old lady who looked like she was coming over to yell at him). He still wished he had been able to get that bimberry extract, but hey, sometimes you had to think of the greater good.

Varian started on his way home, craning his neck to see with his arms full of groceries. It wasn’t until the clanging of the schoolbell signaled the end of the day that he realized he wandered right in front of the village schoolhouse. A rush of old memories flooded into his mind; none of them were good. 

It had been over four years since he had stepped foot in the schoolhouse, and that wasn’t entirely due to personal choice. After an, ahem,  _ unfortunate _ incident involving three pounds of grape jelly and the schoolmaster’s hairpiece, he had been firmly informed that he was no longer welcome to come to class. Ten-year-old him had been upset at first, at least until he realized that without the drudgery of school (where what they taught was either laughably simple or downright useless), he was free to study alchemy without interruption. And he didn’t exactly miss the schoolmaster’s cane either.

The doors opened and a crowd of gleeful children began streaming out of the small, cramped schoolhouse, splitting off into groups and chattering with their friends. Varian cringed, deciding that he ought to pick up the pace before--

“Hey, wizard-boy! Show us a magic trick!”

And... there it was.

“Yeah, whatcha’ gonna blow up this time?”

“Go back to your witch cave, weirdo!”

“Freak!”

_Ignore them, ignore them,_ ** _ignore them_** _…_ Varian thought, moving as quickly as he could without breaking into a run. And Dad wondered why he didn’t have any friends.

It was only after he had crossed two more blocks that Varian deemed it safe to stop and catch his breath behind the tailor’s shop. Jogging with an armful of food- even if he wasn’t going that fast- was  _ hard, _ dang it. Now if he could just make it back home and into his lab without running into anyone else--

“Found ya’, wizard-boy.”

_ Oh, joy. _

Varian stopped dead in his tracks; taking a deep, albeit shaky breath, he turned around to face the voices he recognized as belonging to the baker’s sons, Wendle and Les. Both were husky, muscular boys, much taller than him and wearing identical sneers. Wendle was slightly shorter, and Les had always been on the quiet side, but other than that, they were practically twins; their hair and eyes were the color of chestnuts (if those chestnuts had been dropped in the mud), and each sported a wide array of burn marks from years of working in the family business. It was honestly uncanny how similar they looked to their father- and Varian wouldn’t call that a good thing.

“Oh! Hey, guys!” he said, plastering the world’s fakest smile on his face and forcing himself to sound as if he were pleasantly surprised. “What- what’s up?”

“We been lookin’ fer ya’, Var,” Wendle smirked, hooking his thumbs in his pockets and ambling forward. 

“Oh, um… have you? That’s, uh--”

“Been wantin’ to talk to ya’.”

Varian didn’t like the way Wendle said that.

“Y’know, I’d really love to stay and chat, but, um…” said Varian, his mind racing for an excuse. “My, uh… my dad is expecting me home before sundown, so I, um… I’d better get going! You know how dads are, right?”

Varian wheeled back around, already devising a plan for how to shake them if they decided to follow him home. Suddenly, however, he felt a tug around his collar and was abruptly jerked backwards, stumbling to keep his balance.

“Aw, what’s the rush, wizard-boy? Can’t you just cast a spell to turn back time?” jeered Wendle, his brother’s fist holding onto the back of Varian’s shirt with an iron grip.

Varian grimaced. “What I do  _ isn’t magic _ , Wendle. It’s--”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘alchemy’. We’ve heard it all before.” said Wendle, rolling his eyes. “Right. You really think we’re buyin’ that load of bull? Think we’re stupid or somethin’?”

(A small, suicidal part of Varian wanted to say _ ‘yes, absolutely’ _ , but luckily, the part of him that wanted to see his fifteenth birthday won out)

“Y’know what our dad says about you, Var?” Wendle sneered, jostling Varian’s shoulder. “He reckons that you’ve made up all this nonsense ‘bout alchemy bein’  _ ‘science’  _ or whatever to cover up that you’ve been practicin’ black magic down in that creepy lab o’ yours. He’s got half a’ mind to call in the soldiers from the capitol to arrest you  _ right now _ \- and he would too, if Quirin weren’t so soft.”

Varian gritted his teeth. “Hey, you leave my father out of this--”

“Yeah? Or what?” Wendle laughed, shoving Varian backwards into Les. “You’ll go runnin’ home to daddy? Make us say we’re sorry? Oooh, lookit me, I’m  _ shaking.” _

Varian felt a burst of red-hot anger begin to swell in his chest, only for that to be replaced with an unshakable feeling of dread.

“What exactly is this about, guys?” he asked, starting to feel a bit anxious.

Wendle’s face contorted into a scowl. “What’s this  _ about?” _ he hissed, leaning in mere inches from Varian’s face. Out of nowhere, he slapped the grocery bag from Varian’s arms, the contents tearing through the paper and shattering on the hard-packed earth. 

_ “Hey!” _ Varian shouted, instinctively reaching down to pick up the ruined groceries but finding Les’s grip on him still strong as ever. Milk ran over his shoes in rivets, the splintered glass shards of the milk bottle dangerously close to his feet. Apples bounced and rolled off down the alleyway, and the cracked remains of a dozen eggs were splattered across the bottom of his apron and over the three barley loaves, soaking into the crusts as if they were sponges.

Wendle shoved Varian backwards, nearly making him topple over. “What this is about, genius, is  _ you _ and your  _ stupid machines  _ wreckin’ our house!”

Varian froze; of course. So that’s why the baker was acting so hostile this morning. And Les and Wendle weren’t too finicky about who they picked on- why else would they have sought him out specifically? (besides the fact that mentally speaking, they were hardly a step up from Neanderthals and had approximately zero understanding of the intricacies of science, not to mention they probably liked to torture small animals in their free time, but  _ hey) _

“One of your crazy whatchamacallits fell through our roof and destroyed half our bakery! Now we only got one oven that works and have get up at  _ midnight _ so we can help our dad make enough bread for the day! Plus, we ain’t gettin’ no allowance till we’ve saved enough to repair the roof. And y’know whose fault that is??” said Wendle, jabbing his finger into Varian’s chest.

Varian cringed. “Look, guys, I’m really,  _ really _ sorry. I-I swear I didn’t mean for everything to go so out of control. I promise, it won’t happen again--”

“Oh, we  _ know _ it won’t,” Wendle sneered, cracking his knuckles. “We’ll make sure of it.”

  


* * *

  


Varian shut the door behind him, careful not to let it squeak in case Dad had gotten home early.  


Everything hurt. It had felt like an eternity before Wendle and Les seemed to have had gotten their fill of repeatedly hitting him in the face, or in the stomach, or pretty much anywhere else their sick imaginations could think of.

He was still shaking from the pain of it all, breathing raggedly through his stinging nose and praying that there was nothing broken. Even after they had left, Varian had spent what felt like hours just laying on the dusty ground, trying and failing to collect his thoughts amid the mind-numbing pain. All he had been able to determine was that he and Dad weren’t going to have much to eat this week; while he had still been able to salvage the apples and one miraculously unbroken egg, everything else had been rendered completely inedible.

It was nearly sundown- Dad would be back from the fields soon. Varian could fix this, right? After all, the damage couldn’t have been  _ too _ bad. There was a mirror in the bathroom, he could check there. Wincing with every step, Varian staggered forward, clutching his aching stomach. 

_ Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…  _ he thought to himself, biting down on his lower lip. He turned to face his reflection and nearly cried out in shock.  **_Don’t faint, don’t faint,_ ** **don’t faint…**

His right eye was purple and swollen, a dark bruise forming on the cheek just below it. One of his apron straps had snapped and his goggles were cracked, the glass practically shattered in some places. His upper lip was stinging and puffy and his shirt collar was torn, revealing bruises of every color dotted across his arms and chest. And his nose-  _ oh, sweet Newton, his  _ **_nose_ ** **-** it was crooked and  _ bleeding _ and already beginning to swell. 

Varian slid down the wall, biting back hot, sharp tears, his gloved fingers digging into his skin; how was he gonna explain this to Dad? He couldn’t very well tell him that he’d gotten beat up by a bunch of small-minded thugs who thought he was some sort of evil wizard. Dad was already upset with him about the incident with the underground boilers- Varian couldn’t bear to think how disappointed he’d be if he knew his son hadn’t even been able to put up a fight. 

Maybe he could just hide in his lab till it all healed? No, that was dumb… Maybe he could play sick, and say that he was too contagious for Dad to see him. He’d have to pretend to be  _ really _ sick, though, and Dad might end up calling the doctor...

Suddenly, the sound of a door unlocking caught Varian’s attention and his ears pricked up; _ no, no, no, please don’t let it be-- _

“Varian? Are you home?”

_ …crap. _

This was bad. There was no way he could let Dad see him like this, and even if he did, without some kind of believable explanation, he’d get suspicious. But he couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever…

Varian breathed deeply, getting to his feet. With trembling hands, he turned the knob and pushed the door open a crack, just enough to see Dad in the kitchen.

“...‘m over here,” he croaked, part of him hoping that Dad wouldn’t notice.

That hope was crushed to dust when Dad perked up, peeking over his shoulder to the bathroom door. “Ah. There you are. Come on out, it’s nearly time for supper.”

Might as well get it over with.

Cringing, Varian opened the door and shuffled out, keeping his head low so his hair covered most of his face. Dad was dishing up some leftovers from last night, paying a casual glance to his son before immediately doing a double take.

_ “Varian!” _ he cried, dropping his utensils and grabbing hold of his son’s shoulders. “What in-- how did-- what on earth happened to you??”

_ Think fast, Varian. _

“I, um… I…” he stammered, looking anywhere in the room but at his dad.  _ Come on, say something! Anything! _ “I… it was…

“... just a lab accident.”

His dad’s expression shifted from outright panic to something unreadable. “A lab accident.”

Varian nodded. “Y-yep. But… but it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m okay, really.”

His dad stared at him for a moment, examining his son’s food-stained shoes and apron but refusing to say a word; Varian gulped down the lump forming in his throat, hoping beyond all hope that he wouldn’t ask any more questions. 

Finally, he looked away. “Go sit down, Varian.” 

Varian did as he was told, taking a seat at the small kitchen table and keeping his head low. A minute later, his dad returned, carrying with him a steak they’d been keeping in the ice box.

“Here,” he said, handing Varian the steak and sitting down across from him. “Put this over your eye, it’ll make it feel better. ‘Fraid there’s not much we can do about the rest but let it heal.” Varian nodded, pressing the meat over his eye and flinching at the cold, slimy texture. How it was supposed to be helping, he hadn't the foggiest idea, but--

“Look at me, Varian.”

The young alchemist’s eyes darted up to meet his father’s piercing, steely gaze and he immediately regretted it; it was as if his dad could see right through him.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, son,” he said quietly, his voice calm but firm. “What happened?”

Varian’s breathing hitched; he hated lying. Part of him wanted so badly to just  _ tell _ him, to vent and to cry and undo the knot that was forming in his stomach, because everything hurt and he couldn’t  _ stand _ it, he  _ needed  _ to say something, he needed it like air--

“... I told you, Dad. Just… just a lab accident.”

Varian dropped his gaze, biting down on his lower lip. Even without looking, he could feel the disappointment in his father’s eyes.

He sighed. “Alright, son. If that’s what really happened.” He got to his feet and slowly walked out of the kitchen, leaving Varian alone at the table. 

The deafening silence gave Varian time to think; this was all his fault. If he hadn’t miscalculated, if everything hadn’t gone so wrong, none of this would’ve happened. The townsfolk wouldn’t hate him, or think he was some kind of witch. No one would’ve laid a finger on him, not Wendle or Les or anyone else, for that matter. And Dad--

Dad would be proud of him.

Suddenly, Varian felt very tired. His bruised joints aching, he stood up and ambled down the hall to his bedroom, pressing the steak to his face with both hands. It wasn’t very late, yet somehow sleep sounded amazing.

Outside his window, the sunset was quickly dwindling into twilight, stars appearing one by one in the darkening sky. It was calming somehow; the day was over. Finally,  _ finally _ it was over. 

Tomorrow was a fresh start. Things would be better then.

After all, it wasn’t like they could get any worse.

****

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** I’m usually more of an artist than a writer, mainly because I have the attention span of a goldfish (ADD, love ya boo), but I was in an angsty mood and this practically wrote itself~
> 
> I think a lot about how Varian interacts with the members of his village and, based on the level of property destruction in _What the Hair?!_ and how that seems to be the norm with him, I believe it's correct to assume that his relationship with his neighbors isn’t exactly friendly. (also, the idea of Varian having been expelled amuses me)
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> _(This fic was inspired by an artwork by NyxGlitch over on Tumblr- go check it out! **https://nyxglitch.tumblr.com/post/182251833430/spoilers-there-was-no-lab-accident-basically)**_
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> Anyways, please comment below on what you think! Thanks so much for reading!


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